Earlier this week, I was woken at 3 am to the sounds of whimpering coming from the room next door. I rolled over and reached for the baby monitor. I watched my baby lie in his crib as still as can be. I could hear the whimpering and moaning coming from next door but there was no movement to accompany it. His whimpers eventually turned into little cries. There were moments of silence. I waited and watched. He was still. Perhaps he fell back asleep. Then, little cries pierced the silence. No. No, he did not fall back asleep.
I spent the next two hours quietly rocking him in his nursery. We moved from the glider to standing and back to the glider. We swayed. We rocked. We nursed. At one point, I was pacing the floor while holding my son and patting his back. His head was gently resting on my shoulder and I began to cry. It was at this moment that I realized that I missed rocking him to sleep. I had not held him this way in months. The last time I held him this way, I was just praying it would be over soon. I felt like I couldn’t rock him anymore. I couldn’t endure the hour long nursing and rocking to sleep sessions. I was tired. I needed time to recharge. I was failing at my job. My child wasn’t able to fall asleep. My child wasn’t able to stay asleep. I couldn’t do this anymore. Ironically, here I was savoring the moment. The exact moment that only months ago I had secretly wished would end. This time, I held on to my son and cried.
Time is fleeting. It goes by so fast. I miss so many moments and opportunities because I am distracted throughout the day and tired at night. This night was different though. I cherished the opportunity to spend two hours alone with my son. I would have rocked him for another 2 hours, 2 days or 2 weeks for that matter.
The house was quiet. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. Just me and him.